ABSURD GAME PREDICTION

BY WES DAVIS

Jimbo Fisher looks at the chalkboard filled with complex equations, they're far too complex for me to even begin describing as I am a troglodyte. All the equations end with "5>4" and Jimbo is visibly upset. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his face glistening with perspiration and streaked with chalk from writing and rubbing his eyes, which are red like those of a man who ate the entire pan of brownies before the party started. The man looks like shit.

Falconius, perched atop the chalkboard, reaches out a wing to comfort Jimbo to no avail.

"GODDAMMIT, FALCONIUS! NOT NOW! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M HACKING THE PLAYOFF?" Jimbo exclaims. "THESE DOMINION VOTING MACHINES ARE RIGGED AGAINST US! THE WHOLE PROCESS IS RIGGED!"

Falconius, having had enough, closes his eyes. A light sines down upon him out of nowhere and suddenly, Falconius is standing before Jimbo in avian humanoid form. A 12th Man towel covers his bird vent for posterity, we're not getting that gross here.

"Jimbo, it seems the solution is rather simple," says Falconius in a haughty tone that is made even moreso by his extremely British accent. "All you have to do is beat the bollocks off of Tennessee this weekend and hope to whatever God you worship that the Catholics prevail over the evangelical coach of Clemson. This should push you into the playoff, but do not be surprised if the Iowa State bunch your fans mocked out of Ames leapfrog after winning the Big Twe... I mean giant dumpster fire of shitty teams. The committee loves a conference champion."

Jimbo takes a moment to process. He's just spoken to a talking avian humanoid who is making far too much sense, this is a big deal. He downs a cup of piping hot coffee in one gulp.

"Falconius, you're right. Also, your form is the stuff of nightmares. Please transmogrify back to an actual bird and I'll get to work on this."

"One more thing, Sir. Fisher," Falconius interjects. "The acid seems to be wearing off, sir."

Jimbo snaps back. He is at practice and has been catatonic on the 50-yard-line for 30 minutes. Kellen Mond helps his coach to his feet.

"Fuck the committee, let's go hang 90 on these orange bastards."


Aggies 90
Vols 3

"I KNOW YOU LIKE TENNESSEE CRAIG!!!"

BY SHOOTER FLATCH

I've been dreading this week all season. Tennessee. No I don't think they're worth a shit and we'll probably kick their ass. The problem is my mom's new boyfriend loves Tennessee.

Fucking Craig.

He's such a dick.

He was the Circuit City manager in Chattanooga back in '97 and '98 and that's all he ever talks about. He named his basset hound Fulmer. I hate that stupid ass dog.

Craig thinks I need to wear more denim. And study to be a "mortgage broker". Thanks Craig. Maybe I can be rich enough to buy more Goo Goo Dolls CD's you asshole.

"Craig! Fulmer's taking a dump in my room again!!"

I can't believe my mom rides around with him in a Dodge Durango with custom plates that say "DOOL-E".

Craig loves to bring up Branndon Stewart. I know he wasn't "better than Peyton" Craig! Such a dick.

My mom has "VAWL NAVY" tattoo'd underneath a jetski on her thigh. He's such an asshole.

Every time I hear Rocky Top I really want to punch Craig in the dick.

Craig says he's going to ask my mom to marry him and then take us all to Dollywood. I mean that doesn't sound that terrible to be honest.

I really hope A&M kicks their ass.

Fucking Craig...

WHO HAS MORE?

BY ROBERT BEHRENS

WHAT TO WATCH FOR: SHITCAN ALLEY

BY DR. NORRIS CAMACHO

Derek Mason. Gus Malzahn. The land is littered with the strewn corpses of rival coaches. Somehow Jeremy Pruitt clings to the splintered remnants of the Vol Navy in the turbid waters of the Tennessee, a bright orange dot bobbing in the swirling brown waters. Philip Fulmer's true acumen lies in recognizing a true void of viable alternatives.

{winks in Jimbo}
But we can make 'em regret that tomorrow.

Folks, the TEE VEE people are sayin' mean things about us! That we don't win convincingly! And that we got dog-walloped by Alabama! It hurts even more because these things are true!

There is a simple way to be the sexy team in the Playoffs talk: be the sexy team on the field. Pull a Mack Brown and let two different running backs go over 200 yards. Unleash some vertical wrinkles and get some wideouts in space. Be ruthless and firm in establishing dominance, and don't let up. Get the CFB world chattering about the Aggies early in the day and give them something memorable to play on the highlight loops until midnight.

It's going to be cool and sunny in Knoxville for the football game. It's a week before Christmas, and the Aggies are smack in the middle of the Playoffs race, with a good shot at being in after the dust clears on Saturday night. This is why we love the sport, gang.

Enjoy the ride! And hang 90 on the bastards for flair.

VOL FAN POWER RANKINGS

BY ROBERT BEHRENS (with the help of Google)

Look we've all learned the travails of the at-home haircut during this global pandemic. But this is from 2017 so I'm not sure what his excuse is.

The percentage of people wearing a mask in this photo is equal to Tennessee's win percentage. Coincidence?

It's hard to imagine how a couple could more perfectly personify an entire fanbase. But seriously back to that jacket. I don't care if it is gaudy orange I would wear that bad boy. HMU, lady.

Preseason top 10 team Tennessee did manage to narrowly avoid getting upset by App State in 2016, but not before we were given this gem. Forget Surrender Cobra, long live the Surrender Turtle as the discerning fan's catastrophic pose of choice.

Because the #1 Vol fan will always be ths guy.

ELSEWHERE IN THE SEC

BY DR. NORRIS CAMACHO

"We'll think about that on Saturday night after we win."
--Dan Mullen, two days before playing Alabama in the 2020 SECCG

Oh, Dan. Shiiiiit, Danny. You fucked up, guy. Although if this is your way of throwing the season, I have to admire your brass. It will certainly prove entertaining for the rest of us.

You see, Nick Saban is a vigilant and careful man. Prepared in all arenas for all eventualities. He watched your game film assiduously, sir, and will be more prepared for your team come Saturday night than you are yourselves. This is the end to your shenanigans, Mr. Mullen.

On Saturday night, Nick Saban's players are all taping their shoes to their ankles. You won't get away with this again.